


Goodbye

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Community: rarepair_shorts, Death Eaters, F/M, Infidelity, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daphne has news to share with her lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a prompt table for rarepair_shorts. This is set in an AU where Voldemort won instead of Harry.

Dark.

Everything was dark these days. The sun rarely showed its face, as if denying Britain the chance to feel Helios' warm embrace once more. Gray and black dominated the landscape, from the clouds that constantly hung in the sky to the black robes that moved throughout the land, leaving a trail of green light and lifeless bodies in their wake.

May 2, 1998. The Dark Lord had triumphed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry Potter had been defeated and executed, as had Ron Weasley and his Mudblood girlfriend. The rest of their Order had fled into hiding, deserting their cause in order to save their own skin. In that moment, Pureblood dominance in wizarding Britain had been firmly reestablished.

On this night, even the moon itself refused to show its face. Only by memory did Daphne's feet tread the worn earth towards the darkened estate, solitary out here on the moors of North Yorkshire. There was a harsh wind blowing off the coast, and to the west, her ears could hear the sound of the surf crashing into the rocky cliffs.

She was getting close to the boundaries of the wards which protected Pembroke from outsiders. Reaching inside her cloak, Daphne pulled out her wand and whispered a soft spell, which sent a small ball of soft light floating through the air and towards the thick walls of the manor.

It was their signal. He would know she was here.

Sure enough, she soon felt the pressure lighten as the wards were momentarily lifted, and she stepped inside with nary a second thought. As soon as she crossed the boundary, she felt them slide back into place, shielding her visit from the outside world. It was an old, heady magic, one that laid heavily on the soul and crawled across her skin. If she wasn't constantly surrounded by darker, deeper magics, it would have been enough to give her pause.

The train of her cloak trailed along behind her, growing heavier and heavier with each passing step as the dew on the grass made it damp. She gave it no head; soon, she would be in, warmed, and back to Greengrass Manor before her father had even noticed she'd gone.

The door was already open, and Daphne handed her cloak to a waiting elf before she set forth along the familiar corridors. Pembroke had belong to Francessca Zabini's fourth husband, an elderly wizard with no family, and now was where the place mother and son called home. Of course, the Zabini matron was hardly ever at home. She spent the majority of her time traveling the world and enjoying a life of leisure. Her son, on the other hand...

She couldn't help it, her heart jumped a bit and her lips twitched upwards as soon as she stepped into the parlor. The fire was warm and cheery, such a contrast to the cold and dark wind that blew outside the thick walls. But that wasn't what made her smile.

No, her heart beat faster for the man standing in front of the fire, the sleeves of his crisp Oxford shirt rolled up and his feet bare. Blaise Zabini had been a friend for years, since they'd started Hogwarts. But he was more than that now; he was the man who held her heart.

And the one man she could never have.

Shaking the smile from her face, Daphne stepped into the room towards him. "Good evening, Blaise," she said evenly. Her voice did not shake; a small comfort in her time of despair.

"Daphne," he replied with an easy smile for her as he held out his hand. "You look lovely tonight."

She looked at the proffered hand but did not take it. If she put her skin on his... she would forget her mission in coming here tonight. When they were together, it was all too easy to let the overwhelming call of passion take them, to let their bodies come together until their skin was slick with sweat and their voices were hoarse from calling each others names all night long.

Blaise let his hand drop back to his side when she did not take it. "Drink?" he asked, gesturing to the bottle of wine he'd had one of the elves bring to the room when he'd seen her signal.

"No," she said shortly. "Blaise, there's something I need to tell you."

Her lover, who had begun to pour himself a glass, paused and looked up at her. His gaze dropped to her left hand, minutely widening when he took in the shining diamond that rested there, then back up to her face. "He's done it, hasn't he?" he asked softly, the wine forgotten.

They had both known this day would come eventually. Daphne was a young, single witch from an old, pure line. The Dark Lord wanted the pure lines to join and grow even purer together.

No one had yet to point out that there had already been too much inbreeding amongst the purebloods. No one was that stupid.

"Yes," Daphne answered simply. "It's done."

"Who?"

For once, her voice began to shake as she answered him. "Gregory," she whispered. The mere thought of her _betrothed_ made bile rise in her throat and sent a cold shock through her veins. Gregory Goyle was a troll, pure and simple, and her father had decided she was to marry him.

Blaise's brown eyes were dark and cold, his lips set in a firm line. "I see," he said finally.

Drawing up to his full height, he set the bottle of wine down and crossed the room to her. It was unnatural to be in the same room with her and _not_ be touching her somehow. He drew her into his arms and let his fingers card through her thick, luxurious hair; hair that looked best draped over his pillow when she was naked, body spent from their lovemaking.

Daphne let herself relax in his arms as her hands moved to grip at his shirt. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in his familiar scent. His cologne was spicy, but there was an underlying smell that she loved more. It was the smell of his skin, his essence. It was as familiar to her as her own was.

"Is there anything..." he trailed off, unable to continue with his speech for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "What do you need me to do?"

Her green eyes were wet with tears when she pulled back, tipping her face back to look at him. "Just let me go," she whispered imploringly. "Please, Blaise, don't make this any harder than it already is."

There was a long silence in the room as her words weighed down upon them. The fire, once so dreary and warm, now felt scalding and oppressive. Daphne wanted to roll in it, to let the flames consume her body until her soul took leave and left, or to throw herself off of the cliff and into the sea. She didn't want this, not this marriage, not this life in the Dark Lord's New World Order.

No one had asked her what she wanted, though.

"Alright," he said finally, the lone word heavy with things unspoken. He released her from his arms and took a step back, establishing a firm boundary between them that represented _so much_ for their future.

Her voice quivering and her eyes shining with unshed tears, Daphne reached out to touch his cheek but let her hand drop at the last minute. _I love you_ , she thought, but instead she said, "Goodbye, Blaise," before she turned on her heel and practically fled from the room.

And as much as she wanted to, she didn't look back.  



End file.
